


In Dreams

by fits_in_frames



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-06
Updated: 2004-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was picking out the herbs for seasoning when Frodo cried out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call If You Need Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was picking out the herbs for seasoning when Frodo cried out.

"I'm going to lie down for a few minutes, Sam." Frodo looked anxious and exhausted.

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took his hand and felt his face for the heat of a fever.

Frodo leaned into the touch slightly, but quickly pulled away when his eyes met Sam's. "Yes, Sam, I'm fine. I just need to lie down."

"Well, all right. But call if you need anything, Mr. Frodo."

"I will, Sam."

Sam padded back to the kitchen to make dinner for later that evening. It wasn't like the Master of Bag End to do this, to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon. He also hadn't eaten much all day. Sam was concerned, but he trusted that Frodo would tell him if something was terribly wrong. He rationalized that perhaps Frodo had had a hard time sleeping the night before, as it had been awfully hot. Yes, that must have been it.

***

An hour went by. So much for "a few minutes," Sam thought. He was picking out the herbs for seasoning when Frodo cried out.

"Sam."

It was just loud enough to hear down the hall, but soft enough that Sam was worried. He dropped everything and went as fast as he could to the bedroom.

He opened the door slowly and peeked in. When Frodo didn't respond, he called, "Mr. Frodo?" No answer. He stepped into the room.

Frodo was tangled up in his sheets. Sam could see he hadn't bothered to take his shirt off, though his britches and weskit were lazily scattered on the floor. He stepped towards the bed.

"Sam."

It was more of a moan than a cry. Sam stopped dead in his tracks. Frodo turned slightly away from Sam, almost writhing. Sam took another step. And another. By the time he got to the side of the bed, it was clear Frodo was sound asleep.

But he was talking in his sleep, murmuring. "Sam—oh Sam."

Sam found it slightly unsettling—and somewhat appealing—that Frodo was calling his name like that. The "oh" was the most disturbing part, he thought. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, though. Especially why he found it appealing. He reached down and touched Frodo, rubbed his arm gently. Frodo didn't respond. _He must be out like a light_ , Sam thought. Then suddenly he cried out again.

"SAAAAAM!"

It made Sam jump back a good foot. He inched his way back and brushed his knuckles on Frodo's face—it was slick with sweat, even though the room was as cool as the spring evening that it was. At the touch, Frodo started speaking in complete phrases, though he was still fast asleep.

"Yes, Sam, right there. Unh, yes. Oh Sam, I like it when you do that. Right there, yes, yes... Oh Sam..." And he fell silent again.

Sam had never been more flattered or confused in his whole life. Judging by the sweat, the cries and the position of his hands, Sam concluded that Frodo was having one of *those* dreams. The ones where you wake up and you need to take a bath right away. The ones where you see and say and do things that would never be proper in the normal world. The ones where you... But Frodo was having one of _those_ dreams about _Sam_. He didn't know what to make of it.

He left the room and closed the door softly behind him. Somehow he forced himself to finish making dinner, but oh! how curious he was! What was going on in Frodo's head? He tried not to think about it. Then he heard Frodo drop something and curse aloud. He was most definitely awake. Maybe Sam could get some answers. He hurried towards the bedroom.


	2. The Way You Said It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I—I walked in on you, Mr. Frodo, before, when you were restin'."

Sam stood outside the door and made his way slowly to a good distance to knock. But Frodo beat him to it. The door swung open in front of him.

"Sam!" Frodo was wearing his britches again and had an adorable discouraged look on his face. "Just the hobbit I wanted to see!"

Wait, did Sam just think Frodo was adorable? He was so busy trying to figure out why he though that, all he could squeak out was, "Y-yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"Sam, you look nervous. It's just me." His expression changed completely and he gave Sam a glance that for some reason turned his knees to jelly.

"You said you wanted to see me, sir," he said, not daring to move an inch. He didn't know if he could walk at this point. What was wrong with him?

"Come in, Sam. And there's no need to be formal, not on this beautiful day!" He raised his hands to shoulder height and dropped them again. When Sam silently refused to move, Frodo grabbed his hand and pulled him in the room. "C'mon, Samwise, I'm not going to do anything to you, c'mon."

Sam regained his strength enough so that he didn't fall on his face.

"Sam, it looks to me like you need to talk to me more than I need to talk to you." He glanced at the flower pot broken on the ground, but ignored it and pulled Sam to sit down on the bed. "What's wrong, my friend?"

The room was spinning. Sam didn't know if he could even look at Frodo, let alone talk to him. He took a deep breath and just let the words come out. "I—I walked in on you, Mr. Frodo, before, when you were restin'."

Frodo shot him a look that resembled disapproval.

"Oh, no I didn't mean it like that, sir. I wasn't bein' disrespectful, but you—you called my name." Stop there, Samwise, before you get yourself in more trouble than it's worth.

"I did?" Frodo's face was twisted in confusion.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, you did. You must've been talkin' in your sleep, because when I came in you didn't say anythin', you didn't even wake up with I touched you." Oh no, now he knows. "Just to make sure you weren't sufferin' from a fever." Good save, Master Samwise.

"Well then, Sam, I believe I owe you an apology." He took Sam's hand in both of his. Sam's chest tightened at the thought of where those hands had been just before. "I never knew that I talked in my sleep. Then again, only Bilbo has ever been in the vicinity while I'm sleeping in the last however-many years, and he most likely wouldn't pay attention to my ramblings in bed." He smirked. Sam winced. How was he going to explain what he had guessed from Frodo's cries without being rude?

"Well, thank you, Mr. Frodo, but you didn't just call my name." He tried to steady his voice, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Oh? What else did I say, Sam?" He gave Sam another one of those looks that made his heart tremble.

"It wasn't what you said, sir. It was—it was the _way_ you said it."

"Oh. Was I—was I yelling at you? Oh Sam, I had an awful dream weeks ago where I fired you. I was yelling at you in the dream. I woke up in a cold sweat; I couldn't believe I'd done that, even though it was only a dream. If I was yelling at you, I'm so sorry."

"No, you weren't outright yellin', Mr. Frodo, though some would probably can it that."

"Well you had to have heard it from the kitchen, yes? Then I must have been talking quite loud if I wasn't yelling!" He chuckled until he realized Sam wasn't going to laugh. He sobered up and tightened his hold on Sam's hand. It started shaking. "Oh, Sam, your hand is quivering. I must have said something that upset you."

Sam felt tears about to spill out, but he held them back and spoke in the calmest voice he could muster. "You were—you were—er, you were _moaning_ , sir."

"In pain?" Frodo pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. He really did not know what he had said in his sleep.

"No, Mr. Frodo, in—er—" Sam honestly did not know what to call it. "You sounded like you were, er, doing certain _things_."

"Like what?" Frodo studied Sam's face for a moment and then it dawned on him. "Oh, Sam, I was—oh dear."

"I—I—" Sam couldn't form words. Frodo shifted, curled one legs under him. There were tears in his eyes as he stroked Sam's face lightly with the back of his hand and took a deep breath.

"This wasn't the way I wanted to tell you, Sam."


	3. I Couldn't Find the Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo buried his face into Sam's chest. "Sam, I—I don't know how to say this."

Sam closed his eyes, rested his jaw in Frodo's hand. He didn't feel Frodo rising on his knees or moving closer until their lips touched. He didn't resist the pressure on his mouth. In fact, he leaned into it. Frodo's lips were delicate, warm, and wet. He suddenly wanted Frodo. He didn't know why, he didn't know how. He just _wanted_. Frodo ran his tongue lightly over Sam's lower lip. He wound one of Frodo's chocolate-colored curls around his index finger, and tugged at it gently. Frodo abruptly broke off the kiss and clumsily pulled away from Sam's embrace. He sat on his heels, dropped his hands in his lap and began to sob.

Well, now Sam really was worried. He moved closer to Frodo and put his arm around him. "Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo buried his face into Sam's chest. "Sam, I—I don't know how to say this."

Sam placed a finger under Frodo's chin and lifted it so they were looking each other in the eye. Frodo averted his eyes quickly. Sam jerked his finger slightly and Frodo's eyes came back. "I'd say start from the beginning, sir."

Frodo brushed Sam's hand away, curled in on himself and drew in a sharp, wet breath. "This is all wrong," he said quietly.

Sam tightened his hold slightly. "No, Mr. Frodo, it's not."

"You're—you're not mad at me? You don't hate me?" He still had his eyes fixed on the blankets.

"Of course not! How could I ever hate you?" Sam kissed the top of his master's head. His hair smelled of wildflowers and sweat. Sam felt the wanting again, but ignored it.

"Well Sam." He sniffed loudly. Now _his_ hands were shaking. "It all started a couple of weeks ago. I had this—dream. I told you I had a dream I was yelling at you, yes?"

Sam nodded and wiped away a stray tear from Frodo's cheek with his thumb.

"I wasn't just yelling at you. I was—" his eyes darted to Sam's and quickly fell to his lap again "—I was yelling at you that you—you weren't—er—doing certain things for me anymore and I wanted you out. You were crying, Sam." His shoulders dropped. "I don't remember anything else, except that I felt awful when I woke up."

"But there's more, isn't there, sir?" Sam rubbed Frodo's arm soothingly.

"Yes. Yes there is." He took another deep breath. "I started having these... dreams. I had them when I was younger—I'm sure you've had them too—but it's been years and it always involved a lass. But this time it was..." His voice trailed off.

"'Twas me." Sam felt his heart twitch in sympathy. His poor Frodo.

"Yes," Frodo whispered. "It was you, dear Samwise. I didn't know why. And it was odd. It was almost like I was seeing the story behind that first dream. Backwards. I mean, the first dream seemed like the last time, you know? It just got more and more new-feeling every night. And just last night, I believe that would be what you might call the—the climax of the whole ordeal. The ultimate experience, after which it can only go downhill." He blushed and smiled shyly. "I didn't sleep much last night."

"Why didn't you tell me, Mr. Frodo?"

"Why indeed!" Frodo laughed nervously through his tears. "What would you have said, Sam? No, forget your reaction, what would _I_ have said? I couldn't find the words to say what I wanted without being...vulgar." He looked up at Sam who pressed his lips to the top of his head again.

"Frodo." He kissed away another teardrop. "You are my friend. No matter what you think about me, I would never think less of you." The articulate quality of his voice shocked him. But it was true. He had always loved Frodo. Nothing would change that. But now, it seemed, the word "love" had taken on a new meaning. For both of them.

Frodo brought a hand to Sam's jaw line. Then he ran his thumb on Sam's cheek. Sam hadn't noticed he was crying until he felt the coldness of a smeared tear on his face. "I love you, Sam."

It was like Frodo had read his mind. "I love you too, Frodo."

"You mean that, Sam? I mean, it started out as a silly dream and I dismissed it as so, but now—now that I've told you—I know it's real. Do you really love me?"

"Of course I do. Why else would I say it?" He took Frodo's hand and kissed each one of his fingertips.

Frodo snaked his arm under Sam's and held the small of his back. "Well then, would you ever consider, er, _acting out_ one of these dreams with me?"

Sam pondered on that for a moment. The wanting returned. "Only if you tell me exactly what you want, Frodo. Do you think you can do that? It is _your_ dream, after all. Could you—could you 'find the words'?" He smirked.

Frodo's face lit up in a toothy grin. "I think I could, Sam. I think I could."


End file.
